


Makin' Bacon Pancakes

by thesabotagedandovershadowed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, bobby is their dad don't @me, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesabotagedandovershadowed/pseuds/thesabotagedandovershadowed
Summary: Bobby makes breakfast for the boys.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	Makin' Bacon Pancakes

At his age, Bobby might’ve killed for a spell that could stop a hangover dead in its tracks. All those damn spells for immortality, or throwing someone across a room, or sucking the life from a human being to put into some poker chips of all things, and no one had ever come up with a spell to stop convenience store whiskey-induced headaches? 

Bobby squinted as he opened his eyes. The brightness of the room told him it was late morning, maybe even afternoon. The uncomfortably stiff jeans told him he hadn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable before stumbling into bed around four in the morning. He’d been up late looking into a case Annie was chasing in Akron. She’d be at the morgue today, looking over the bodies for any evidence she might’ve missed. Bobby pulled himself up with a heave. He had work to do. 

He lumbered toward the kitchen, trying to figure out if he should start his day with whiskey or coffee, or whiskey in his coffee, when he froze at the base of the stairs. His books had been moved. Now he may have been a hoarder. He may have had more books than the entire Sioux Falls library, but he’d be damned if he didn’t know exactly which ones he had and more importantly, where he’d left them. And _A History of Demonic Possessions_ was missing. He picked up the shotgun he’d left leaning against the console table, and entered his living room, barrel up...and immediately lowered it, rolling his eyes. He cursed. He’d forgotten he’d given them keys to his house.

Sam and Dean were both passed out in his living room. Sam lay sprawled out on his stomach, his arm hanging down off the couch. His face was covered by the messy mop of brown hair, but Bobby would’ve recognized that stupid hair anywhere. And if not by the hair, by the fact that his socked feet hung a good foot off the edge of the couch. His shoulders were wrapped up in a brown fleece blanket, one Bobby had never seen before. He supposed they must have brought it in from the Impala, because it certainly wasn’t his. And sure enough, next to him on the end table lay his missing book. _Idjit._

And if Sam was here...of course, never far from his baby brother, Dean slept on the floor near the foot of the couch. He didn’t have a blanket of his own, but Bobby recognized his one, singular, reddish couch cushion smushed under Dean’s presumably drooling face (he’d seen Dean sleeping. Now was as good a time as any to buy a new cushion). His couch had come with two, but he’d lost the other years ago. He might’ve questioned how Dean slept with not even a blanket between him and the cold wooden floor, but then he’d seen both how far Dean could drive in a day and also how much alcohol he could put away later that same day, and decided he already knew the answer. 

He sighed loudly and shuffled past them to the kitchen, dropping the gun in the corner of the room with a loud thud. He didn’t need to turn around to know the two must’ve shot up together, hunting instincts putting them instantly on alert. The synchronized groans when they realized it was only him told Bobby all he needed to know. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, bending down to pick up a pan, “I don’t wanna hear it.” Normally he wouldn’t need much more than a quick bite himself, but morning and two hungry boys meant breakfast. He grabbed a box of mix from his shelf. Pancakes, Sam’s favorite. He opened the fridge door. Bacon, Dean always wanted some kind of meat in his meals. He breathed in the smell of the coffee grinds as he spooned some into a filter. He wished it tasted as good as it smelled, but then hunters didn’t drink it for its taste. He hadn’t heard them come in. And if he’d gotten to bed at four, Bobby figured they must’ve come in late, by five or so at the earliest. The blankets and pillows he’d always put aside for them had been left untouched in the closet across from his room. He felt a smile form on his face. He grabbed more cups. They’d all need some coffee. 

When the bacon was frying, the pancakes cooking, and the coffeemaker was gurgling, he turned and leaned against the counter. They’d returned to their original positions, having made no move to wake up and start their day. Bobby ignored the uneasy feeling in his chest at seeing them so close together. They were curled up toward each other, as if they’d fallen asleep talking quietly, careful not to wake him. Sam’s hand was still hanging off the couch, and if his aging eyes weren’t deceiving him, he might’ve thought he saw Dean squeezing his hand. It was fine, he’d needed glasses for a while now, he knew. He thought of the book that had been on the end table, and wondered why Sam would want to read instead of sleep after getting back from a presumably long drive. _Maybe he couldn’t sleep_. Bobby put away the thought. The wall was still standing. If something had happened, Dean would’ve told him. 

“You princesses gonna sleep all day or am I gonna have to eat all this food myself?” he asked gruffly. Their hands shot apart. “Stop sittin’ on your asses and come set the table.” He turned and flipped a pancake on to a plate. One day at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> set sometime during season 6, after sam gets his soul back. just a short drabble inspired by a conversation i had with amoreanonyname and whenshiphitsthefan on tumblr :) hope you enjoy!


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